


Pale Constellations

by Pretty_Lame



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretty_Lame/pseuds/Pretty_Lame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...Frank still counted the pills in the medicine cabinet and ran his fingers up Gerard's body, leaving kisses in their wake where he found scars, and reassured Gerard how much he loved him and didn't know how the universe had came up with him, and sometimes Frank still had to make sure Gerard was eating and watch him like a hawk for the next half hour so he wouldn't throw it up when he felt like there was too much of him and the world might like him better if he didn't take up space that could be used for better things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic posted, hope you like it!

Gerard spends most of the year in the hospital, driving to the hospital, and convincing Frank that he needs to go to the hospital. Usually he listens, because Gerard gives him his sad-worried face and he heaves a big sigh and agrees that his nose is broken and if he doesn't want it stick like that it needs to get fixed. Sometimes Gerard doesn't know how Frank survived before he came along, but then he remembers that when Frank found him bleeding out into his dirty sink for the first time, he knew exactly what to do, and fixed Gerard up so well so fast that he didn't make him go to the hospital. Of course, that could have been the desperate way he clung to Frank and begged him with a voice hoarse with Jack and the effort of holding back screams not to take him to the hospital, that he wouldn't do it again and he would tell him if anything was wrong, just please don't take him to the hospital. Frank agreed on the condition that if it happened again, the hospital would be the first place they would go, and his mom the first person he would tell. 

That was the day Gerard stopped drinking. 

He had woken up after he was bandaged up, given food and coffee to bring up his blood sugar, and laid down to sleep in his bed that smelled like cigarettes and coffee and paint with Frank curled tight around him even though it was only four in the afternoon and they had school tomorrow. Frank wasn't curled tight around him anymore, and he had a brief moment of panic before he realized that he could hear a crash coming from the bathroom. Slowly, he got up, biting his tongue to hold back cries of pain at the sharp sting shooting up his wrists, and made his way to the bathroom, only stumbling once when the dizziness got too much.

"Frankie?" He called, opening the door nervously. He was greeted with the sight of a sobbing Frank throwing everything Gerard could possibly use to kill himself on the floor, watching the medicine cabinet slowly empty and smash, along with the bottles of Jack and vodka Gerard had hidden behind the towels for when he was feeling extra shitty. He stood in the doorway until Frank was done, and when he finally turned around and noticed he was watching him, the expression on his face crushed Gerard's heart into a thousand tiny pieces and hurt more than the stinging in his wrists. Frank looked so scared and small that Gerard silently promised that he would do what ever he could to never be the reason Frank looked like that ever again, no matter the cost. He broke that promise a few times, never going quite as far, and never going back to the bottle, but Frank kisses the scars that litter his wrists and thighs, and when they fuck he leaves bruises on his hips because it helps Gerard remember that he's still alive.

"Frankie," he said again, stretching his arms out as Frank stumbled into them, somehow avoiding the broken glass, pills, and booze littering the floor, a graveyard of Gerard's self destruction. Staggering to the bed because he could barely move; Frank was all but standing on his feet in his effort to never let Gerard go ever. When they collapsed in a heap on the crumpled sheets, Frank buried his face in Gerard's shoulder, soaking Gerard's t-shirt as he cried silently.  
"You're not allowed to leave me," Frank whispered in a small voice, after his shuddering sobs had halted, and they had lain together for hours, limbs tangled and heartbeats in sync. Frank had his hand on Gerard's heart, reassuring himself that the boy he loved's heart wasn't too broken to beat and keep the body containing it alive.

 

"You're not allowed to die," he continued in his small voice, raising his head from Gerard's shoulder to look at his face, a fierce light entering his eyes.

"I won't."

"You better promise motherfucker, you better promise that you won't die on me, we haven't even finished high school yet, that's not enough time to live. We're gonna get an apartment in New York that smells like coffee and smokes and paint and us, and I'm going to get a job at Patrick's record store and walk you to class and see what you paint while it's in progress even though you never let anyone see them until they're done, and you can read my terrible poetry and song lyrics and make fun of me for them even though I know you won't, and I'm going to kiss you all the time so you'll never get any work done even though you somehow always do. And we're gonna live forever Gee."

Gerard had promised him motherfucker, and it had been half a year since he tried and failed, and Frank still counted the pills in the medicine cabinet and ran his fingers up Gerard's body, leaving kisses in their wake where he found scars, and reassured Gerard how much he loved him and didn't know how the universe had came up with him, and sometimes Frank still had to make sure Gerard was eating and watch him like a hawk for the next half hour so he wouldn't throw it up when he felt like there was too much of him and the world might like him better if he didn't take up space that could be used for better things.

But now it was Frank who was breaking, cracked bones and bloody mouth because he didn't know how to swallow his tongue around people who would hurt him without a second thought. He didn't know how to make himself smaller so his father and the bullies wouldn't notice him, he had to make sure that everyone knew he existed and was proud of it, spitting in the face of the guy who could break his nose with one punch and did, quite often. Gerard loved that about him, because he was proud to exist and be filled with the audacity to live with abandon. 

But on the rare occasions that he wasn't bleeding and bruised on the outside after he opened his mouth at home, he would silently slip through the window into Gerard's basement room without saying a word, burrowing into the nest of blankets that contained his boyfriend, Gerard would get scared. He pretended he wasn't, of course, because on those days Frank just wanted to be enclosed by him, safe under the blankets as he silently put himself back together while Gerard held him. But he was scared, because if Frank was broken what would happen when Gerard was broken too? So he ran his hands along Frank's bones and traced the lines of his face and coerced him into the hospital when he needed it, which was happening far more often now. When Gerard couldn't come to shows with him, he went by himself and got drunk because he could and went home angry at his parents and the world. Mouthing off at his dad became a habit for him after shows, because he was an angry drunk when around people he hated, and the next day he would always come to school with a scabbed lip wearing long sleeves and have Gerard cover him in the changing room for gym because there were hand shaped bruises in places he didn't want anyone else to see.

But now there was only two weeks until graduation, and Frank hadn't come to Gerard with bruises or broken noses for a month, and they were going to make it to the end, and they were going to get away, and then everything went to shit. Two am on Saturday morning, Frank showed up's basement window, covered in blood and cradling his arm to his chest. Gerard scrambled to let him in, helping him down and practically carrying him to his bed.

"Fuck, fuck, Frank, you're bleeding, shit" Gerard whispered, silently freaking out.

"S'okay," Frank slurred, "it's not mine. My arm though," he trailed off, biting his lip and wincing as Gerard climbed in to sit next to him, cradling his head in his lap.

"Is it broken?" 

" No, just twisted or something. But my ribs hurt, and they might be."  
Gerard sucked a breath in through his teeth, carefully putting pressure on various places on Frank's chest. He moved to the right side of his ribcage, and Frank hissed suddenly, the hand on his uninjured arm shooting up to grab Gerard's and pull him away from the spot on his ribs. 

"We have to go to the emergency room Frank, I'm pretty sure you broke a rib," Gerard said cautiously, ready to grab him if he bolted. But Frank surprised him, saying 

"Yeah, okay. Can it wait till morning though? I'm gonna crash any minute now."

Gerard agreed, only on the condition that Frank let him wrap an ace bandage around his chest. He hauled him up out of the bed and into the bathroom, intent on washing the dried blood off before he fell asleep. Getting Frank situated was a challenge, as every time he moved he had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out. Finally, he got him sitting down, slumped against the tub, eyeballing Gerard as he placed a washcloth under the stream of water, wringing it out into the sink.

"Arms up," Gerard ordered, sitting on Frank's legs, starting to undo the buttons of his blood soaked school shirt.

Frank couldn't bring his arms up all the way, so Gerard had to wrangle him out of his shirt, doing his best to keep Frank's injured arm steady, and his other arm from twisting in a way that would hurt his ribs. The shirt was absolutely ruined, no amount of hydrogen peroxide could save it, so Gerard twisted around, arching his back to reach the trash. He turned back around, shifting a little, and slowly started cleaning the blood off his boyfriend's bruised chest.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Gerard asked when Frank had been bandaged up and they were laying in Gerard's almost too small bed, carefully situated. Frank sniffled, but it was only after he told him that he started to cry, silent tears that hurt Gerard more than harsh sobbing would have.

Frank had come home in the middle of one of his parent's fights, not unusual, but this time it was different. His dad was on a rampage, screaming at his mother and breaking furniture, punching the walls. He had raised his hand to hit his mom, but Frank had jumped in front of it, taking the slap. After that, he had just started whaling on him, breaking his ribs, screaming how his son was a fucking pansy. A neighbor came over to complain, and he had stabbed him. Frank tried to use his shirt to stop the bleeding, but his father had wrenched him away, telling him not to come back till morning. So he had ran, stumbling out into the street, knowing only that he had to get to Gerard's and he would be safe. 

Gerard bit his lip, knowing that he couldn't tell anyone, already coming up with the excuse they would use this time at the hospital. He settled with rubbing his back as Frank buried his face in Gerard's shoulder, discreetly wiping away his tears. He fell asleep soon after, and then it was just another hospital visit with mumbled explanations of little brothers pushing him down the stairs. Gerard saw how the nurses and doctors looked at their adjoined hands just a second too long, or raised their eyebrows when Frank clung to Gerard's hand when they were resetting his nose for the millionth time, and hated it. There wasn't anything wrong or dirty about them, so why did their looks of "I'm trying not to care but I really do" make him feel sick to his stomach? This visit was particularly bad, as Frank was so shaken up that he refused to let go of Gerard for anything and anyone, and Gerard was peppering kisses along Frank's jawline to keep him calm. 

But now Gerard was in college, taking classes in New York and living with Frank in an apartment that smelled like coffee and smokes and paint and them, while Frank worked at a record company, somehow getting far up enough in the ranks to earn a decent living for a nineteen year old. The sink hadn't seen any blood, and there were no bottles hiding behind towels, and the bed hadn't seen wallowing and misery, just love and sweat. It faced one of the many large windows in the apartment, trading windows and closeness to Frank's job for a shady neighborhood. But on nights when it was clear and warm, they opened the window and laid there, looking at the city lights and marveling the fact that they were alive. Of course, there were some rough spots, fights about money, and Frank going out drinking with some work friends and coming home drunk with kisses tasting like beer. Gerard didn't care if he drank, he just couldn't deal with the taste of alcohol in Frank's mouth that made him grasp desperately at the coin in his pocket while Frank snored on top of him. In the morning Frank always apologized, promising to stay at Mikey's next time so Gerard would feel better, but Gerard always shushed him, telling him he didn't care as long as he was there when he woke up.

It was Saturday morning, and Frank hadn't seen his dad in over six months and everything was fine, but then there was a knock on the door. Frank and Gerard froze, Gerard slowly unhooking his legs from where they were wrapped around Frank's waist. He shook his damp hair out of his face, whispering,

"Do you think they'll leave if we don't make any noise?"

There came another knock, more forceful this time, and Frank groaned, before yelling 

"Just a minute!"

He got up, putting sweatpants on, giving Gerard a look that said "stay the fuck there", and left the bedroom closing the door behind him. He opened the front door, scowling already. His frown deepened when he saw who was at the door.

"What do you want?" He barked out, staring his father down. He sneered at his son, shoving past him to get inside.

"Is it true?!" He demanded, standing in the middle of their living room, staring at the sketchbooks and paintbrushes that he knew didn't belong to Frank.

"Is what true?" Frank scowled, moving to block the bedroom door from his father.

"That you're living with, with that fag boy!"

"So what if I am?! You can't do anything about it! We're adults now, you can't hurt us!" 

Frank's father let out a bellow of rage, storming past Frank into their bedroom. Frank prayed to God Gerard had gotten dressed, rushing in after him. Thanking every deity he knew, Gerard was dressed and sitting up, reading his book. But he was still in their bed, and that was far more than enough proof for his father, who wrenched Gerard up, shoving him into the wall, wrapping his hand around Gerard's pale throat. He spat in his face, squeezing his throat before punching him in the stomach. Frank stood frozen for a second, before screaming,

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" and grabbing him around the middle, dragging him away from Gerard, who sank to the floor, holding his throat. His father bared his teeth, snarling that he wouldn't have a fag boy for a son anyway, before shoving him to the floor and storming out.

"Literally what the fuck was that," Gerard choked out. Frank scrambled to his feet, pulling Gerard up and towards the bed. 

"No idea," Frank said, frowning. "Are you alright?" 

Gerard nodded, and Frank trailed his fingers across Gerard's neck where the bruises were. Gerard nodded, but crawled closer to Frank, ducking under his arm, clearly shaken up. Frank pulled him close, knowing that in times like these, when Gerard had been hurt, Gerard needed something that would reassure him that he was Frank's and no one could take him from from him. So Frank pulled him down under the sheets, covered him with his body, and focused on leaving his own bruises on his hips and neck, pressing him into the mattress, telling Gerard without words what he already knew; that he was Frank's.

After, they lay tangled in the sheets, whispering ridiculous things and declarations of love, while Gerard twisted his fingers in the longer strands of Frank's hair, pressing kisses to the top of his head. Frank twisted around and grinned, and Gerard wondered how he could ever have wanted to die when Frank was there looking at him like the stars were in his skin and he wanted to trace the constellations they made with his fingers and tongue.


End file.
